A Black Wind
by Punisher
Summary: It is often said the choice is between what is right and what is easy. But what if the choices blur on the lines of righteousness and neither is easy? Remus and Harry struggle together to overcome their anguish. Will they make it through?
1. Decisions

* * *

07/22/2003 

* * *

**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling is the author of _Harry Potter_; Hayao Miyazaki is the creator of _Spirited Away_; Woo Hyuk Lee is the author of _Demon Exorcist Chronicles_. I am just borrowing (respectively) their characters, imagery, and concepts for my own amusement. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Note**: Major OotP spoilers. Please read Book 5 first.

**A BLACK WIND**  
by Punisher

--- _Decisions_ ---

Remus Lupin did not know why he thought the letter sounded suspicious. _Ron_ had not noticed anything wrong, and truth to be told, the letter looked quite innocuous even after the second read. Remus, however, couldn't get rid of the nagging doubt that persistently tugged the nerves in back of his head.   

    
    _
    … How are you? I'd like to say I'm doing fine, but
    since you won't believe me, I'll say I'm managing.
    I have headaches everyday, but you already know that.
    Oh, and I still have those dreams. They're rather
    entertaining. No really, they are.
    What are you doing now? No. I shouldn't ask that. You
    aren't allowed.
    Can't think of anything else to say. Good luck,
    whatever you're doing.
    Harry
    _

  
That was it. No real mentioning about his state of being except for some vague references about headaches, and certainly nothing about Sirius. But the letter sounded too impersonal; too contrived; too … _fake_. He had been warned to expect the thin veneer of sarcasm, which concerned him despite Ron's assurances, and understood the reluctance to tell his emotional state, which frustrated Mrs. Weasley. What troubled him the most, he would realize in retrospect, was the almost unnoticeable hint of bottled-up anguish. 

And it was only the first letter.

Remus massaged the spot between his eyebrows. He was worried about Harry more than he could even admit to himself. And yet … what could he do about it? Harry best hope for security and protection was with his muggle relatives. He would be alive, as Dumbledore kept on stressing, alive. Fine. Harry would be alive in body, but what of his spirit? 

He was contemplating this when someone quietly approached him. 

"Checking up on your _pup_, Lupin?" a soft voice asked. "How touching. Quite a _job_ isn't it, filling in the _mutt's_ mangy shoes …" 

The inevitable derisive snort was exhaled. Remus could even tell the number of seconds between it and the vitriolic comment. 

"I'm sure the pup would _appreciate_ your _concern_," continued the voice relentlessly. "And why _wouldn't_ he? We are keeping him _safe_ and _locked up_ while you take care of all the … _scary_ … details." 

For some reason, that hurt him even more than anything. And why did he have to be reminded he was unemployed … again? 

"Personally, I don't know why you bother. The brat has already proved himself a fool and a menace to all those around him…" 

"Good day to you, too, Severus," Remus muttered. 

He folded up the letter, put it in his robe pocket and walked away. All the while, he felt the satisfied smirk boring into his head. 

---oo00oo---
    
    _
    Don't have much to say. At least you know I'm still
    living and breathing.
    Nothing's going on around here. The Dursleys aren't
    being horrible as they could have.
    As for my homework, I'll start sometime next week.
    Harry
    _

"Mum, Dad, can we invite Harry over _now_?"

Remus looked up. He had been reading Harry's second letter in front of an open window when he heard the rather high pitched voice of Ronald Weasley coming from the kitchen. Ron had read the letter first, as it was addressed to him, and had looked quite agitated when he handed it over to Remus. 

"Ron," said the tired voice of Arthur Weasley, "If I told you once, I told you a thousand times: we can't invite Harry over _anywhere_ until the Order takes care of Grimmauld Place." He paused, hesitating. "And Dumbledore has to figure out what he is going to do with Kreacher." 

Remus nearly dropped the letter he was holding. There he stood, his ears ringing and back rigid, dimly listening to the birds chirping from a far distance. He knew about this. He shouldn't get upset. He was not going to loose control. _He was not a monster…_

"DUMBLEDORE'S KEEPING THAT—THAT—THAT _THING … **ALIVE**_?!" 

Remus froze. He hadn't imagined that Ron would be particularly happy to learn Dumbledore was yet to do anything to Kreacher, but the fierce, unchildlike rage in Ron's voice shocked him deeply. He waited, expecting that at any moment Mrs. Weasley would begin telling Ron off for being rude, but she seemed just as stunned at her son's reaction as he was.

It was Arthur who recovered his voice first.

"Ron—you don't—Ron, _think about what you're saying_!" he stammered. "_Surely_ you don't want to _kill_—" 

"It's his fault we went to the Department of Mysteries, it's his fault Sirius' dead!" Ron exploded. "Harry wouldn't've had to go through all this, if he hadn't squealed to the Malfoys!"

Silence fell, and Remus heard the oblivious birds again. Then he heard heavy stomping of feet. Presumably Ron was storming around the kitchen, fuming. 

"That little—we should—I'd—_I'll string that—_ (Ron shouted something unprintable) _— by his testicles and feed him to the spiders in the Forbidden Forest_!" 

This broke Mrs. Weasley out of her trance. "Ronald Weasley, I'm going to wash your mouth out with soap!" she shrieked.

"It's your fault too!" snarled Ron, rounding on her. "If you didn't make fun of Sirius all the time, he wouldn't have been so keen to leave!" 

With that, Ron stormed out the kitchen, slamming the door behind him with such force that the whole house shook. In his mind's eye, Remus could almost see Mrs. Weasley swelling with anger. After several heaving breathes, he heard her burst into tears. 

"Molly, don't—he didn't mean it—don't cry …" the tight voice of Arthur drifted out. 

But Mrs. Weasley cried all the harder, muffled though it became.

Remus was rooted to his spot, gripping the piece of parchment and staring at the wooden floor. Then a familiar shirt between two clenched fists fluttered into his view. He looked up. Ron was inches away from him, his face deep red and twisted into an expression of such rage that he was scarcely recognizable.

"What are you doing here?" he spat. "Do you care about Harry or not?!" 

Remus felt as though he had been punched in the gut. Ron eventually stomped away, banging and radiating fury. But even after the Burrow had fallen silent again, Remus continued to stare at where Ron had been, his breath coming in short pants.

_Do you care about Harry or not?!_ Voices screamed in his head. They sounded awfully like James. And Sirius. _Do you care about Harry or not?! _

_Do you care about Harry or not?! Do you care about Harry or not?! Do you care about Harry or not?!_

_**I do**_, Remus protested weakly.

THEN WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

**I…**

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

Remus slumped against the wall, clutching his chest.

_What was he doing here…_?

---oo00oo---

"Shouldn't we at least send someone to talk with the Dursleys, Dumbledore?" asked Arthur Weasley. He was fidgeting with his hands. In his peripheral vision, Remus saw Dumbledore's beard quiver.

At length, he heard a deep sigh. "I wish I could say yes," said Dumbledore softly. Remus felt his heart drop sickeningly to his stomach.

Harry had studiously sent his third letter—status report—whatever—three days after the second one had arrived. Its arrival did not give Remus any more comfort than the two previous ones. Besides the letter itself, Hedwig had stared at him with an unmistakable air of accusation before taking off, not bothering with a reply. Remus tightened the grip around the small piece of parchment he held between his hands as he read it again. And again. 
    
    _
    Doing well. Not much to say.
    Please keep in touch.
    Harry
    _

"He shouldn't be there," whispered Remus, his voice quivering against his will. He cursed his ears when he heard the hateful sniff of impatience. 

"Keep your thoughts to yourself, Snape," Moody growled two seats away. "And don't tempt me!" 

Snape apparently did not, as no one spoke for another minute or so. It didn't matter, though. Remus could seriously attest the point that Snape's sneer could be felt a mile away, even in the dark. 

"Can you tell me anything new about the appeal from the Malfoys?" asked Dumbledore, breaking the silence.

"Quite a bit," Arthur answered immediately. He sounded very grateful at the change of topic.

Two weeks after Lucius Malfoy was incarcerated in Azkaban (which was now sans Dementors) Narcissa Malfoy, along with preparing an elaborate (and expensive) defense for her husband, made a _discreet_ appeal to the Ministry of Magic to unfreeze the Black family's assets and property. Her reason was that since Sirius Black, the only surviving direct descendent of the Blacks, was virtually—and in all likelihood physically—dead, she wanted to have her mother family's mementos and use them to support her '_wrongfully imprisoned husband_.' 

"Fudge believes her of course," said Arthur in a disgusted tone. "Honestly, even after arresting Lucius in the Department of Mysteries, he thinks Malfoy was held under the Imperious curse and was forced to do things he normally wouldn't do." 

Nearly everyone manufactured various noises of derision and disbelief. 

"Fudge came to talk with me personally yesterday," said Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep voice. "He asked if I had any clues to whether Sirius Black was … _dead_ or not." Kingsley cleared his throat a bit too loudly. "I told him that there was no conclusive evidence to support either." An uncomfortable silence. "He wasn't very happy to hear that."

Remus made no comment. Neither did the rest of the Order. 

"He did look really put out," continued Nymphadora Tonks at length. "And I heard him muttering something about talking to the Wizengamot and changing a few laws on how to determine the death of a wizard or witch—to include disappearances of seven months or something similar." 

"He can't do that!" exclaimed Dedalus Diggle. "Do you know how many wizards and witches would be declared dead simply because they 'disappeared' a few months?" 

"It will not happen," said Dumbledore firmly. "Certain laws cannot be touched, even by the Wizengamot or Minister of Magic. The Death of a wizard or witch is determined by body or spell—it has been this way since Merlin's time, and it shall remain so." 

"But that's where the second problem comes in," said Arthur with a sigh in his voice. "The last time I checked, Narcissa was pressuring the Ministry to perform the _Verifisio Funus_ charm. Fudge is all for it, but most of the high court is rather reluctant. It won't be long before they issue their consent, though. I mean, it's not standard procedure to perform the death verification spell on a … er, 'officially' escaped criminal, but other than that, they have very little reason to deny her." He sighed. "I afraid we're fighting a losing battle here, Dumbledore." 

"We do not know that, not until the end," said Dumbledore serenely. "As for myself, I have a feeling that the situation is not a hopeless as it appears." 

Snape snorted at that comment.

"Why is Narcissa raising such a fuss anyway?" asked Charlie Weasley. "And why do we have to keep her from winning the appeal? I mean, we'd loose Grimmauld Place, sure, but it's not like we'd leave anything for You-Know-Who to find." He tapped the table with his fingers several times. "Of course, we'd loose our headquarters, but—" 

"It is not much about loosing Grimmauld Place than loosing our control over Kreacher we have to worry about," explained Dumbledore. "There is a little-known rule for house-elves, now all but forgotten to most wizarding folk: When the family dies out but the house-elf has not been freed, then the Elf's next master will be the new owner of the house the elf is bound to." 

The members of the Order made noises of comprehension and alarm. 

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "As you might have guessed, if the Malfoys inherit Grimmauld Place, then Kreacher will be under no obligation to hide the secrets of the Order." 

The dread in the air was almost palpable.

"But it is not as bad as it seems," Dumbledore assured. "If worse comes to worst, we _do_ have the option to either perform the Fidelius Charm, or order the Hogwarts elves to do a house-elf equivalent of a memory charm on Kreacher." He sighed. "I devoutly hope we will not have to resort to such desperate measures. It is my belief that it would be for the best interest of everyone if we found Sirius' will, if such a document exist, and learned its terms."

"Hestia and I are working on that," said Kingsley wryly. "It was actually Fudge's idea. We're checking records and contacting lawyers. So far, nothing and no one showed up." He lifted his palms off the table and waved them around in a helpless gesture. "Who would have thought a _house-elf_ could cause so much trouble?" 

If Remus was capable of laughing, then he would have done so rather hysterically. The very thought of so many important wizards and witches squabbling over the ownership of a single house-elf was a concept so absurd as to be hilarious. But all humour had bleed out of him, so Remus made no sound. No one fought over Grimmauld Place for any of its virtues—they simply wanted to own the wretched elf Kreacher. And no one fought over Kreacher for any of his values as a servant—they simply wanted him for information. 

All in all, the situation was hilariously bad. 

"How are we keeping Kreacher in that house?" asked Bill Weasley. "I doubt he'd leave Grimmauld Place, but you never know … and I'm not sure if the usual house arrest spells would work." 

Dumbledore sighed again. "For those very reasons, I was … _obliged_ … to order several elves from Hogwarts to keep Kreacher under house arrest and constant surveillance." The silver beard shook. "The last time I checked, Dobby had Kreacher bound, gagged and furious."

_Serves him right_ sneered a part of Remus' mind that sounded awfully like Sirius. 

The Order discussed other issues and problems of varying importance. Remus zoned them out. He knew he should be listening, but he couldn't handle all these facts and people about the current Magical world when all he could think about was a boy who currently lived in the Muggle counterpart. 

"That is all we can do for now," said Dumbledore at length. "This meeting has adjourned." 

Everyone shuffled around and scrapped their chairs against the floor. Remus pulled himself out of his stupor and placed Harry's letter into his pocket. His fingers brushed against the two previous ones. 

"Remus, may I have a word?" Dumbledore's voice called out. 

_I will not say yes. I will not say yes. I will not say—_ "Yes?" _Damn, damn, damn_!

"Any luck with your searches?" asked Dumbledore. He assumed the Headmaster was peering at him. 

"Very little," Remus parroted dutifully. He kept his glance firmly on the white beard. "But I did get an interview for a book keeping job." 

"Well," Dumbledore began, "one of my colleagues is looking for a research assistant—" a short pause— "perhaps you would consider…?" 

"I'll think about it … sir," said Remus tonelessly. He quickly turned around.

"Remus?"

Remus stood still, but did not turn around again.

"We are all facing dark and difficult times. Some have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Some had families torn asunder. And you—you have lost a dearest friend. But you must not loose hope. Though you must remember those you have lost, never forget those who are still by your side."

Remus started to walk away. But Dumbledore's last words still reached his ears.

"Remember the dawn. Though you do not see it, there is hope. Hope in the future."

---oo00oo---

Remus watched the red sun go down beneath the hills through an open window. The sky still radiated faintly golden-orange, bathing the trees with its rich color. Cool wet breeze whispered in the air. In the background, there was the sound of gentle clinking of dishes, running water, and several pairs of heavy foot steps.

But Remus had long since failed to register such things. He was waiting, and that was all he could focus on. Waiting, waiting, and waiting; waiting for that white speck to appear from the sky; waiting for a letter he should have gotten hours ago. 

Was Hedwig being stalled? Did Harry forget? Was he completely loss for words?

Did he no longer care?

"Any sign of Hedwig?"

Startled, Remus turned to his right and found Ron and Ginny standing next to him. Both of them looked rather pale and haggard, and yet they peered at Remus with something akin to desperate hope. Remus felt like a villain and murderer when he shook his head. 

"Oh," muttered Ron. Ginny nibbled her lower lip. "Okay."

Remus quickly returned to his watch. The skies were turning darker, and the golden-orange on the trees faded to dark green, merging into black. Some distance away, gray storm clouds had gathered around the horizon. Then he heard a dry clap of thunder. _Storms are brewing tonight…_

"Do you think he's all right?" Ginny asked apprehensively. 

Remus looked at the two of them again. He felt his heart seize when he noticed the suspicious wetness around Ginny's eyes. Almost by instinct, a stream of nothings creped up to his throat, but died away before it could pass his lips. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't it. How could he give them assurances when he didn't believe them himself? Ron watched him struggle, and dropped his glance to the ground. 

"I know," he muttered. "You wouldn't know either…"

They stood in silence. 

Then Ron balled-up his fists. 

"_We—have—to—get—him—out—of—there_!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't _care_ if Dumbledore thinks it's safer for him to stay with those Muggles—it's not _right_ to lock him up like that!" He stomped his foot. "Why can't he _see_ it? Harry's so miserable in there, he gets angry!" He swallowed convulsively. "I don't want to see another angry Harry anymore…" Then the rage came back: "would it kill to take the risk and let him _heal_ for a change?!" 

Ron savagely kicked the wall. And there he stood, silently fuming next to Remus, who couldn't breathe properly because of the lump in his throat. Dimly, he heard Ginny fervently muttering her agreement as if from a distance.

The wooden floor creaked loudly behind them. 

"Ron, Ginny, your mother is calling you. Why don't you two go the Kitchen and see what she wants?" 

The three of them whirled around and found Arthur Weasley standing right behind them. Ron and Ginny glared at their father mutinously. Arthur stared coolly back. At length, the two younger Weasleys stormed towards the Kitchen, banging and raging all the way. 

When the last bang died with a house shaking 'BOOM', Arthur turned to face Remus. 

"You should take a break, Remus. You look awful." 

Remus did not meet his eye, and turned his face towards the window. 

"No really," Arthur persisted. "You've been standing in front of this window _all day_…" 

Remus just shrugged. An awkward silence fell between them. Remus commanded himself to ignore it. 

"Have you sent a letter to him this afternoon?" 

Remus nodded. 

"Then he must have got it by now." 

He knew that, so he nodded. 

"It's only been three days. I'm sure he's fine." 

How could he know? How could he be so sure? Many things could happen within three days. 

"Malfoy's appeal will wrap up one way or another. We'll be bringing him over—soon." 

He heard that often enough to make him feel sick just thinking about it. What was more, they said that to Harry last year, and they have left him in Privet Drive for more than four weeks. He couldn't call that 'soon'.

Arthur let out an exasperated sigh.

"_Please_, Remus," he pleaded. "You've been here for almost two weeks, but we hardly got a handful of words out of you! The children are getting worried…" 

Did they? How intriguing.

"I know you're worried out of your mind—we all are! But you don't have to bottle it all up. It's not good for you or Harry—" 

That stung deeply. But Remus still refused to turn, and drew into himself even more.

"I know you don't like the current arrangements." Arthur sounded extremely miserable. "I don't like it either. But between comfort and safety, I prefer safety." 

Remus said nothing. He knew Arthur was trying to help, and he appreciated the sentiment. But he couldn't articulate his growing fear, his steadily increasing misgivings. But what was it that he feared? Why was he so anxious? All he knew was that it had something to do with Harry… and himself. 

"Remus?"

Remus forced himself to look up. Arthur was looking at him with deep concern. For some reason, he thought Arthur looked old. With his face lined and vivid red hair dulled with streaks of grey, Arthur looked as though he aged another fifty years within a year. _How many burdens does he carry_? Remus wondered as he crumbled under the intent gaze. 

Remus dropped his glance to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I… I just…" he waved his hands around helplessly. "I can't explain this." He shoulders slumped. "Can you excuse me for a moment? I—I need some air." 

"……All right," said Arthur reluctantly. He moved his hand towards Remus as if he wanted to put it on his shoulder, but Remus backed away. Arthur put his hand down. "Come back when you're ready," he said instead. 

Remus nodded and quickly left the Burrow. 

---oo00oo---

Remus stumbled through the yard, passed the hedges, up the hill, and into the Weasley's orchard. He stopped in front of a gnarled apple tree and leaned his back against it with his head thrown back. When breathing became less painful, Remus sank to the ground and hugged his chest. 

_What are you doing here? Do you care about Harry or not_?! 

Ron might have only spoken out of anger, but Remus had been asking those two questions to himself ever since it had been uttered. 

_What are_ you _doing here_? 

What was he doing here, indeed? He was staying at the Burrow while Grimmauld Place was fought over and he was unemployed. Just like the Order suggested, in fact. Duty bound him to answer the Order, and he was more than willing to do so. But that was only addressing what the people around him wanted or expected from him. What about himself? Why did he stay at the Burrow when his heart screamed to be at Harry's side? 

He knew what he wanted: He wanted to protect Harry; to bring back the boy he remembered from two years ago; to relieve all the anguish and sorrow he could feel through the letters like faint wisps of smoke. But above all, he wanted to actually _be there_ for him, not just be someone he corresponded with letters. 

Were such intentions selfish? They were, actually, if he considered the rest of the Wizarding world. There were duties only he could perform, and going to Harry meant that he was relinquishing (_giving up_, a voiced whispered treacherously) such duties. How many nameless and faceless people would die while he tried to protect just one boy (_who meant something to him_) from sadness? 

But then again, he might be only fishing for excuses. Like he did during his school years when he turned a blind eye at James' and Sirius' bullying of Snape; and when he distanced himself from his friends fifteen years ago; and, most recently, how he let himself drift away from Harry for the past two years. He never took the initiative to contact Harry, though he always waited for a little note from him (_with shameful anticipation_). It never came of course, and those letters of concern and inquiry were sent to Sirius (_Don't think about it_). Later, he had been convinced (_still trying to convince himself_) that Harry already had what he needed and wanted from Sirius (_Stop it_), and there was no need for a tag-along parent figure. But now … even a tag-along parent figure would do some good to Harry. At least he wouldn't sound so hollowingly lonely in his letters … 

Remus sighed to the night sky. No matter how many times he agonized over the matter, he still arrived to the same damn conclusion. He had only two choices: He could either put Harry's needs first and go against the Order, or put the Order first and simply hope for the best. There was no middle road at this point, and once he chose his path there was no turning back. The question was, where should he go? 

It was often said the choice was between what was right and what was easy. But what if both choices blurred on the lines of righteousness and neither was easy? Whatever others might think (_particularly Snape_), carrying out his 'selfish' choice was no walk in the park. As Harry could not stay in the Wizarding world, at least during the summer, Remus would have to give up magic and stay with Harry in the Muggle world. 

_No Magic_ … Remus felt his limbs and insides freezing up at the mere thought of it. _No Magic._ Two whole months without magic if he was _lucky_; for an indefinite period of time if he wasn't. _No Magic._ If the Ministry found him out, he would be one trip away from being locked up in a werewolf halfway house with his wand snapped. _No Magic._ Remus suppressed another shudder. _No magic._ He couldn't wrap his mind around it. _No Magic._ He was born and raised in the Wizarding world—magic was a part of his **life**. _No Magic._ Convulsively, Remus reached for his wand and held its wooden length. _No Magic._ He could still remember the time when he bought it—being utterly amazed at the fact he was allowed to have one _at all_—and vowing to never loose it. _No Magic. No Magic. No. No. No …_

Remus buried his face in his arms. From a distance, he heard more dry claps of thunder. The sound steadily drew nearer, and the winds were getting cooler and more wet. The gnarled apple tree behind him swayed, its dry leaves roaring as they fought against the wind together. Was a storm coming to pass? He did not know … he was too caught up with his confusion. Never before had he felt so torn in his life, where he _knew_ what he could to do, but too terrified to carry any of it out … And in the mist of his confusion, past conversations he had with Sirius that now seemed as though they had happened in another lifetime surfaced.

  
Moony, you're a good friend and all, but you have to speak up here and now then.

What about **you**, Sirius? You're a good friend and all, but you have to stop and **think** here and now and then.

  
"You didn't listen," whispered Remus to the darkness. "You never listened. Even after Azkaban, you didn't change." He swallowed painfully. "But then … neither did I."

The night grew steadily colder, and dark shadows seemed to coil around Remus' shivering frame. But he took no notice. He was lost in his mind, heedless of the outside world. The surrounding orchard of apple trees might have been a barren wasteland for all that he cared. More than ever, he hated to be alone, but in the same time he couldn't bear the idea of company.

  
If anything happens to me, you take care of Harry, all right?

Don't worry about Harry, Sirius. And what makes you think something's going to happen to you?

I distinctly remember you accusing me for rashness …

_For a very good reason, I'm sure. Don't _worry_ so much. And as for if 'something' happens to you, what do you think I'd do, let him starve?_

  
"Why did I have to right on that occasion?" Remus murmured, vaguely aware of his stinging eyes. "You should have stayed alive, if only to spite Severus. Or me. _Why?_"

For several hours, Remus kept his head buried in his arms, caught in a sea of fear and indecision that would not release his grieving mind. He shivered as the winds became stronger, and Remus wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, painfully conscious of the fact that the one person who might have been able to pull him from the misery was not there.

Eventually, exhausted by his grief, Remus pulled his head up and stared at the leaves above him. He could still see the stars in between, twinkling resolutely through the clouds. "_Sirius_," he groaned, wishing with all his might that he would wake and find this to be naught but a dream.

_  
DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

  
Remus froze when the question came to him as if it was thundered from the skies.

_  
DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

_**I … I do care for him.**_

_DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

_**I do … but—**_

_DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

_**I … You—you don't understand …**_

_DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

**_… I do _****…** Please stop … 

_DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

_**Stop it …**_

_DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

_**Stop. It.**_

_DO YOU CARE ABOUT HARRY OR NOT?!_

_…_

_**DO. YOU. CARE. ABOUT. HARRY. OR. NOT?!**_

  
Remus stared at a distance as if he was struck by a petrifying curse. He couldn't believe it. He was making excuses again. _He was trying running away_. How could this be? Just when he berated himself for such only hours ago?

  
_… We are all facing dark and difficult times. Some have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Some had families torn asunder. And you—you have lost a dearest friend. But you must not loose hope. Though you must remember those you have lost, never forget those who are still by your side. _

  
What was he doing here? He was wallowing in self-pity and sad memories, just like Lord Voldemort expected fools like him to do. With this realization, Remus suddenly came to himself and broke free at last from the uncertainty that had chained his soul. For the first time, he saw clearly the choice that lay before him.

It was true that there were but two paths for him to choose, and once the choice was made, there would be no turning back. But it was not true that both paths were _difficult_ and _right_. He could remain here and fight a war with the older generation, and let the younger generation watch their future decided for them. Or he could journey to the Muggle world and nurture the future generation, an uncertain and fearful road but one that might lead him to resolution and a brighter future. The latter choice demanded enormous sacrifice, but it would the choice of his calling.

_  
Remember the dawn. Though you do not see it, there is hope. Hope in the future._

  
Remus smiled slightly, remembering the Headmaster's words. He did not know exactly what Dumbledore wanted to tell him, but the words strengthened his conviction nonetheless. His smile growing and a measure of peace finally settling in his heart, Remus stood up and looked heaven upwards, searching for the stars shining through the darkness. And as he looked, hope flared in his heart while darkness was driven back.

"I coming," he whispered, determination hardening his voice. "Wait for me a little longer, Harry, I'm coming," and with that, he walked away from the orchard and The Burrow.

He didn't look back once.

* * *

**Longish Note from Punisher** (who recently recovered from Traumatic-Post-Order-of-the-Phoenix-Syndrome): 

_Namu Amida Butsu_, Sirius Black. _Namu Ami Tabul, Gwan Sae-um Boh Sal_. Though I understand the necessity of your death, you will always be alive in my _other_ universe. _Namu_ …

This is actually an extension of my other-other fic: _A Time of Understandings_. OotP made several important plot-points of _AToU_ impossible to implement, so I rebuilt the outline. In the process, this spawned up as a story of its own. Since I didn't want to make _AToU_ OotP-ishly long, I seperated them. I hope you like this, and plead you to review. 

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Bibliography:

[1] _We are all facing dark and difficult times …_: based on Dumbledore's speach in GoF, p724 American Hardcover verison.  
[2] _Remember the dawn. Though you do not see it, there is hope. Hope in the future_: based on the words of Gimli in Thundera Tiger's _Beyond This World_. A beautiful LotR story, and screamingly appropriate words. 


	2. Confusions

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08/02/2003 

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**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling is the author of _Harry Potter_; Hayao Miyazaki is the creator of _Spirited Away_; Woo Hyuk Lee is the author of _Demon Exorcist Chronicles_. I am just borrowing (respectively) their characters, imagery, and concepts for my own amusement. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Note**: Major OotP spoilers. Please read Book 5 first.

**A Black Wind**  
By Punisher

---Confusions---

  
From the east, a pale sun rose above the tree tops and shimmered dimly beneath a blanket of grey clouds. The grass and leaves, parched and yellowed after a two year long draught, ruffled in anticipation as a cool wet breeze passed by. From a distance, low rumble of thunder echoed through the slumbering forest. It was too dark for any living thing to be out, and with a storm coming, most of them were seeking solace in their dreams.

One man, however, was wide awake and moving.

Remus cast a quick look at the window before he strode over to his wardrobe. He pulled out some relatively passable muggle clothes, shrunk them, and carried them to the table where he placed his battered briefcase. The said briefcase was full to brim with various shrunken items—items of value and memory. He'd been packing since he'd apparated to his ramshackle cottage, and now his old home was almost empty except for an occasional piece of furniture here and there.

He had to hurry. He had to carry out the plan before daylight brought more excuses. He just _knew_ he would never carry out his resolution if he thought about it any deeper in a 'rational' mindset. Besides, it was high time he acted out his heart, and he didn't want to ruin this one chance.

He was rearranging his shrunken items to accommodate his clothing when a gray barn owl came swooping through an open window. It dropped the latest edition of the _Daily Prophet_ at his feet and took off. He stopped, stooped down to pick it up, and unrolled the newspaper. The headline splashed into his eyes:

  
_

DEPARTMENT OF REGULATION AND CONTROL OF 

__MAGICAL CREATURES_  
INTRODUCES NEW DARK CREATURES RELOCATION BILL 

  
Remus felt his upper lip twisting into something between a snarl and a grim smile. It was about time he read something like this in the _Prophet_. There was no need for him to read any further from that point, but he read the article anyway. _The Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures introduced a new bill that would relocate all dark creatures and part humans known to have had past association with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name … full Ministry support expected … results predicted to be beneficial …_ etc, etc, etc…

He crumpled the paper in his fists and threw it on the table. Why did he read it at all? Now he knew Dumbledore would try to do something about this ridiculous legislation proposal and ask him to carry out an important mission or another. The temptation to drop his (_insane! wrong!_ jeered a little voice) plan was growing rapidly. But he must not give in. He must not give in. He must not give in. Savagely, between clenched teeth, Remus threw in the last of his clothing into the briefcase, not bothering with the order anymore. 

At long last, he placed his hands on the lid, ready to slam it shut.

There was flash of fire and a Phoenix appeared right before him.

For a moment, Remus swore his heart had stopped beating. "_Fawkes_…" he whispered, his hands silently slipping off the lid.

Fawkes let out a quivering note. Remus couldn't decide whether he felt encouraged or as though he had been soundly reprimanded after hearing it. Did they not say a Phoenix song gave hope to the righteous and despair to the evil? Why then, did he feel so confused and befuddled? His eyes strayed to the crumpled and soggy newspaper on his sea-wreckage of a table. The headline glared right back. Then he heard Fawkes let out a—was that a note of inquiry?

Remus turned his eyes back to the gold and scarlet bird. It peered into his eyes beadily. _He's looking into my mind_, Remus realized before felt himself drowning into the pair of black pools; his thoughts, emotions, and memories bubbling up from a fountain that was his mind and trickling into them.

How long they had been staring at each other, he did not know. But when Fawkes released him from his stare, the Phoenix lifted his head and let out a stream of chirps. Then he bobbed his head up and down, ruffling his feathers. Remus gapped at him.

"Are you encouraging me?"

Fawkes let out another scale of unearthly notes and flapped his wings. Remus scratched his head, still befuddled.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Remus closed his briefcase with a soft click. Then he cancelled out the magical wards around his old cottage. He didn't need them—for a long time, he expected—and there was no need to drain his or Dumbledore's energy unnecessarily. The old building trembled as the magic imbued into its walls returned to their owners. Remus let out a sigh as he felt a gentle current of magic creep back into his veins.

That done, Remus strode towards his front door. Before he opened it, he turned back and surveyed his house again. It was quite dark except for the spot where Fawkes occupied. Illuminating even more brightly, the Phoenix let out another quivering note.

"Right," said Remus, nodding. "I'd better get going."

He opened the door, and stepped into the rain. He unhesitatingly walked towards the large Willow tree planted in front of his old home … and vanished.

---oo00oo---

Moments later Remus appeared next to a large oak tree planted behind Arabella Figg's house. Taking his right foot out of the large puddle it had landed on (and surreptitiously wiping some of the mud on Mrs. Figg's wall), Remus made a quick survey of his surroundings. All of the houses in his immediate area had their windows closed and shudders drawn. No one was out either, as massive raindrops were pounding the roads and pavements mercilessly. Relieved at the fact there was no need to put memory charms on unsuspecting muggles, Remus stepped out of his hiding place, and walked towards number four.

Now he was standing in front of the front door. His nerves tingled unpleasantly. Why did a simple Muggle door look so ominous? A distinct part of mind was telling him he should ring the door bell. The problem was, his heart was racing, his mind was reeling, and his hands were shaking so badly his briefcase was falling between his fingers.

_Ring it! Ring it, you fool! It's just a bell!_ the ever-Gryffindor part of his mind snapped. _For God sake, do you care about Harry or not?!_

_Are you insane?!_ the irrational and cowardy counterpart screeched. _You're about to give up MAGIC and live like a **Muggle**, for crying out loud! Run! Run when you still can!_

Remus swallowed with some difficulty. How is it that he could face supposed mass-murderers, negotiate treaties with vindictive vampires and fight a small army of Death Eaters, but not be able ring a _Muggle door bell_? It ridiculous—Sirius would have had been rolling on the floor laughing if he heard about it. Acutely aware of the adrenaline flooding his veins, Remus pressed the button.

He was greeted with a loud shriek a few seconds after the door opened. Taken aback, Remus peered through the half-opened door and saw Petunia Dursley cowering before him. This turned Remus from shocked to bewildered: Though he had seen many people shriek in terror when they learned he was a werewolf, anyone who was ignorant of this fact did not find him intimidating even in the remotest sense. But Petunia did not know he was a werewolf (at least he thought not) and, with his clothes and hair completely drenched and right leg depressingly muddy up to his knee, he probably looked _pathetic_ not _frightening_…

Remus' bewildered thoughts came to a grinding halt when Petunia let out another let out another ear splitting screech, even longer and louder than the first. Had it not been for the particularly loud clap of thunder crashing down on the exact same moment, people would have heard her from three streets away. The last thought reminded Remus why he was there, so he took a step towards her to give her some reassurances.

Unfortunately, Petunia turned from hysterical to utterly panic-stricken by that one step. She shrieked again, then turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her, up the stairs and into a bedroom, still screaming. The door slammed and Remus heard what sounded like a large piece of furniture being dragged in front of it.

For a while, Remus continued to stand at the threshold, blinking stupidly. Then he stepped into the house, shutting the front door behind him. 

It was surprisingly dark inside, with only a few candles lightened up on the kitchen table and on top of a big black … _thing_ in the living room. As far as he could tell, the house did not change a jolt since he visited it last year. Now that he entered the house, and was spared from the awful necessity of dealing with the Dursleys for the moment, Remus found himself calming slightly. _You can deal with them later—__check on Harry._

Remus climbed up the stairs, each step squeaking noisily beneath him. Once he reached the top, he peered into the first room to his right (which was slightly ajar) and was treated with the not-so-pretty sight of Harry's bloated muggle cousin sleeping sprawled spread-eagle on his bed without a shirt. The sheer horror Remus felt from the sight halted his coherent thought processes for a full second while his survival instincts took over and closed the door before his eyes started to bleed.

When he sufficiently recovered from his mental paralysis, Remus warily peeked into the next open bedroom door. Fortunately, there was no one in the room, and judging from the sparse furnishing and unnatural cleanliness, it must have been the guest room. That left him with only two more rooms to check.

Remus knocked the last door in the far corner in the hallway. He got no answer. He knocked it again. Silence.

"Harry?" he tried, pressing his ear against the door.

He heard some incoherent mumbling. Then silence again.

Agitation growing exponentially, Remus tried to open the door. It was locked. He reached out his wand by instinct, but stopped his hand before it could touch the handle. _No magic_, he reminded himself. _No magic._ He looked at the doorknob more closely and noticed the small key dangling from a length of string. He pushed the key into the keyhole and turned. The lock clicked and the door creaked open.

It was pitch-dark inside. _Where are the windows?_ Remus wondered and as he took a step forward, kicking over something that sounded like a tin can. It noisily rolled to the other side of the room before it hit something immobile.

"Harry?" he called out.

He heard something move from the other corner of the room. He walked towards it. The faint smell of stale vomit reached his nostrils. When he got closer, he saw the vague outline of someone sitting on an object that appeared to be a bed.

"Harry," he repeated, reaching out.

"G'way," a voice muttered hoarsely.

"Harry—it's me," Remus hesitated. "It's … Remus Lupin."

He got no reply. Unable to take the darkness and silence anymore, Remus pulled out his wand. 

"_Lumos_."

The end of his wand glowed. A pale hand rose up to block the light. Then it lowered.

Remus felt his breath stick in his throat.

"_Harry_?" he whispered, backing away.

A pair of wide and empty green eyes stared at him without really looking. Between those two eyes, a dark river of blood was flowing down from a gapping wound on Harry's forehead. Afraid to look, Remus shifted his glance to the pair of hands on the bed. There was a bloodied razor in one hand and a … a … a … oh god, _what **was** that thing_?!

The last thing Remus remembered doing in the room was knocking the knife out of Harry's un-protesting hand and snatching him out of the bed.

---oo00oo---

When Remus came back to himself, he was settling Harry on a sofa with his arm still wrapped around Harry's bony shoulders. Harry's forehead was bleeding like mad. Then he noticed a suspicious looking dark stain down the Harry's T-shirt. Damn! He couldn't see … it was too dark … He pointed his still glowing wand end at Harry.

Then he stared. Harry looked like hell. He had lost weight; his face pinched and drawn. He was clearly dehydrated, although he was sweating profusely. His face was white with two blazing red patches on his cheeks. His eyes were sunken and shiny with fever, and he was shaking. Worst of all, there were several gashes and spots on his forehead that looked as if it was skinned or flayed.

With a shaking hand Remus pulled out a sodden handkerchief and wiped the blood on Harry's nose. Next second, there was a resounding bellow followed by a sharp crack that sounded horribly like someone apparating with too much power. He turned around. A very purple faced Vernon Dursley was standing by the foyer, holding a long shiny metal object that was smoking in the end. Petunia was crouching behind him, apparently scared witless.

"You! Get out of my house this instant!" Dursley roared, waving the long metal thing menacingly. "Get out or I shoot!"

Remus just stared. "We need a Healer," he said, voice quivering. "Harry's hurt. We have to get a healer."

"_I said: get out of my house!_" shouted Dursley, veins throbbing.

"We need a healer here!" Remus shouted right back. Merlin, can't they see all this blood?! "_Call a healer!_"

"GET OUT!!" howled Dursley, eyes glinting madly.

"If you can just—!"

"GET—_OUT_!!"

There was another ear-splitting boom. Remus felt something sharp and hot glaze his right cheek. The metal thing Dursley was holding was smoking again. Remus took a quick look back. There were two black holes on the wall, and a great deal of masonry debris and burnt plaster scattered around the otherwise impeccable floor. Shaken and getting a very good idea to what the long metal thing was, Remus canceled out the _Lumos_ spell and pointed his wand at Dursley.

"Don't make me hurt you," he whispered, fixing his aim on Dursley's heart.

"HA! We'll see about that!" Dursley— the swine— roared. He raised the metal thing again.

"Put that thing _down_," Remus hissed.

The metal thing exploded. Remus ducked just in time to cover Harry from the rain of broken glass from a shattered lamp hanging on the ceiling. He felt some of them sticking into his head, but it didn't hurt. Peering up, Remus lifted his wand again.

"_Expell_—" wait. He heard if a muggle threatened a wizard with those strange metal things, they shouldn't use the summoning charm or disarming curse. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The metal thing shot out of Dursley's hand and hovered around the ceiling. Dursley let out a bellow of rage and frustration. He jumped up and down, waving his fat hands above his head as he tried to reach his weapon. After shaking the house several times, he rounded up on Remus.

"_You!_" he screamed. "_I don't know what makes you scum of the earth wizards think you rule the world, but— I'm— not— taking— more— crap— from— you— any— longer!_"

"Listen—" Remus began.

"_You left us with that—that **monster** without much of a by-your-way, and made us raise that piece of filth! And what do we get?! OWLS! Exploding Fireplaces! Tongue lengthening candies! Neighbors talking!! And my family—**attacked**!!_" 

"Can you please listen—"

"_I had **enough**! I'll get rid of the bloody lot of you if that's the last thing I—_!"

CLUNK!

The long metal thing fell on Dursley's head when the levitation charm wore out. Dursley collapsed to the floor, creating a minor earthquake.

"_Vernon_!" Petunia shrieked. She immediately kneeled next to her husband, noisily fussing over him.

Remus drew in a deep breath. "Please, listen to me!" Petunia looked up and opened her mouth furiously, fingers pointing, but he beat her at it. "We have two injured people. If you just call a healer, everything will be—"

He was cut short by what sounded like a quickly approaching alarm. Petunia shrieked in dismay. Through the windows, Remus saw many cars and white vans with flickering red lights on their roofs screeching to a halt in front of number four. Muggles wearing dark uniforms piled out of the cars. 

A few seconds later, someone hammered the door.

"Police! Open the door!"

Petunia shrieked again. After a brief pause, the door was kicked opened and six tall and burly muggles (_please-men_, Remus speculated) stormed into house brandishing smaller and shorter versions of the long metal thing Dursley threatened him with. They took one look at Dursley's prone and massive figure on the floor, the long metal thing laying next to his head, Petunia, who was shrieking incoherently, at Remus and Harry, the latter whose forehead was still bleeding profusely, the two dark holes in the wall behind of Remus, the shattered lamp on the ceiling, and hollered for the muggles outside of the house.

"Don't worry sirs, ma'am, the paramedics will come in just a minute!" said a man who looked like a leader of sorts. He held his metal thing up like Auror on guard and turned to other muggles in uniform. "Johnson, Flint, and Hesse! I want you to search this area for anyone suspicious. Pascoe and Queen! You two stay here and guard this lot until they're taken to the hospital."

Johnson, Flint and Hesse swiftly left the room with the leader. Seconds later, muggles wearing jumpsuits filed in.

"This one's suffering a concussion," said a man kneeling next to Dursley, "_and_ a heart attack; his pulse is erratic. You better get a stretcher over here."

"You've got glass in your scalp, luv, and a cut on your cheek," said a woman. Remus instinctively raised his hand. "Don't touch! Here, let me take care of them."

She pushed Remus into an armchair and pulled out a pair of tweezers from a box. While the woman was disinfecting his cut on the right cheek, she completely blocked his view with her body. 

Someone made an appalled noise.

"Jesus _Christ_! He looks like someone tried to do him with a razor!"

"Shut up, Sean! Not in front of the kid!"

"Well he's out cold anyway, so why…"

"I told you to shut up! Now make yourself useful and get the stretcher team."

"Fine, fine…"

Remus tried to get around the woman in front of him.

"Stay still! I'm almost done!"

"Harry— is he— I have to see him!" Remus said, shifting to his right. He caught the sight of Harry's left hand. It wasn't moving.

The woman grabbed him by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "He's going to be fine. We'll take care of him."

"I have to stay with him!" said Remus desperately. "I have to—"

"All right!" said the woman. "Just let me take care of the glass, and then I'll let you ride the same ambulance with him, deal?"

Remus let out a defeated sigh and fell into his chair. "Good," said the woman. She went back to her business.

Ten minutes later Remus found himself with a sedated Harry and the woman who took out the glass in his scalp ("please call me Jessie") in the same ambulance. He could hear the muggle emergency vehicle racing through the rainy streets, ringing its alarm loudly.

"He's going to fine," said Jessie, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder. "Don't worry."

Remus nodded mechanically. His eyes did not leave Harry's face. Harry appeared to be sleeping fretfully, even though he was sedated; his eyes clenched shut and face contorted with pain. Were nightmares haunting him? Was Voldemort tormenting him with the accursed link?

The van finally pulled over at a Muggle hospital, and the Muggle healers rolled Harry's stretcher to the building with Remus hot in their heels. Inside, an orderly detained him in the waiting room while Harry was rolled into the emergency room. He waited there, and when the sheer exhaustion from the morning's fiasco drifted him off to sleep, one thought bubbled up to his mind:

_What have I gotten myself into…?_

---oo00oo---

Several undetermined hours later, someone shook Remus up from his light dose. He looked up. A tall black Muggle wearing a dark wet overcoat and a pale looking Muggle wearing a strange bluish jumpsuit and hairnet were standing in front of him. He quickly got to his feet.

"There is no need to worry," said the jumpsuit Muggle, raising both of her palms. "No one is in immediate danger of dying and everyone will make a complete recovery."

Remus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I'm Dr. Fabienne Bastian," said Dr. Bastian, holding out her hand. They shook hands. "And this is Detective Brown from the Surrey Police." He shook hands with Detective Brown. "Mr. Brown here has some question regarding the … incident at number four. So please take and seat, Mr.—?"

"Lupin, Remus Lupin," said Remus. 

He sat down. Detective Brown sat on a chair in front Remus, and Dr. Bastian sat next to him.

"First, I must assure you that you are not a suspect of this case, Mr. Lupin," said Detective Brown formerly. "I just need some information about all the individuals involved. As you are the only one in fit state for questioning at this point, I chose to talk with you first."

Remus nodded his head in understanding.

"What is your connection with the Dursley family?" asked Detective Brown, pen poised above a chart. 

"I'm a former professor in Mr. Harry Potter's—Mrs. Dursley's nephew—school," Remus replied. "I was visiting him and—"

"You've been a faculty of St. Brutus' Secure Center?!" interrupted Dr. Bastian, staring.

Remus stared back. "Saint—_what_?" he said, bewildered. "No. Harry goes to a boarding school up in Scotland." He struggled to remember the Muggle name for Hogwarts. "—_Hestworth Academy_ is its name. I taught there two years ago."

"I know that school," said Detective Brown, clearly intrigued. "I have a nephew attending there. Dean is his name. Do you know him?"

"Ah, you are Mr. Thomas' uncle?" said Remus, managing a pleasant smile. "Yes, I remember your nephew. A bright student, I recall, and very artistic. It was pleasure for me to teach him."

Detective Brown nodded with deep satisfaction. Dr. Bastian, however, narrowed her eyes with a look of introspective suspicion. Remus stole an uneasy glance at her before turning his attention back to Detective Brown.

"Why were you visiting Mr. Potter?"

"Uhm…" Remus fumbled a bit. How much should he tell him? Would it be safe to tell him the truth? His reasons for visiting Harry had little to do with the incident, as his arrival itself caused the entire fiasco, so—

"I got some letters from one of Harry's friends," Remus explained. "Harry's… godfather died about three weeks ago—" Dr. Bastian winced— "and Harry had left at the end of school term extremely distraught. His friends were worried that Harry might do something … well, you know," Brown nodded. "So they asked me for help."

"I see," said Brown somberly. "But why did they contact you when you were no longer a faculty of the school?"

"I still keep contact with my past students, Mr. Potter and his friends in particular," explained Remus. "Their parents and I are acquaintances. And Mr. Potter—his father and I were friends."

"Hmm," muttered Brown. "Did you keep close contact with Mr. Potter since he became an orphan?"

Remus winced. "No." He looked away. "I had— and still have— chronic health problems. When I got the job at Hestworth, I thought everything was, as far as my health was concerned, under control. I befriended young Mr. Potter that year—" _several years too late_— "But by the end of the term, my health problems worsened to the point where I could no longer teach, so I resigned."

"… I see," said Mr. Brown, his professional mask slipping long enough to give him a look a deep sympathy. "So you were checking on Mr. Potter. Can you tell me what happened during the visit?"

"Well— it was—" Remus floundered. "I'm sorry; everything is … a bit of a blur." He looked at the Detective apologetically.

Brown nodded in understanding. "Just take your time and start from the beginning."

Remus ducked his head and pinched the spot between his eyebrows. As much as he liked to see the Dursleys knee deep in trouble with the Muggle Law Enforcement, Harry's relatives— Petunia in particular— were crucial to Harry's protection. That meant he had to defend those godforsaken Muggles and do the best he can to divert any suspicion from them. _Talk about **necessity**…_

"Mrs. Dursley opened the door for me," Remus started slowly. "Then I went to Harry's bedroom." He pondered whether to tell them about he saw in there. "In the room, I found Harry bleeding on the forehead," which was true, and he didn't have to state any reasons. "I took him downstairs and asked Mr. Dursley to call a He— uhm, _help_." He paused. "Then I heard this loud _boom_—"

"The first gunshot," muttered Brown. "Go on."

Remus thought frantically. "I looked around. It was very dark, so I couldn't see much. Then another … _gunshot_ … rang and I felt something glaze my right cheek." He absently rubbed the spot, which was covered with a thick wad of cotton and four strips of band-aids. "A few moments later I heard the third shot, and glass started to rain down on my head." He was going to conclude here, but then he remembered Dursley getting hit by the long metal thing. "After that Mr. Dursley got hit on the head with … _something_ and then the police came."

"Did you see the person who shot the gun?" asked Brown.

_So that's what Muggles call the long metal thing._ "No," said Remus.

"Did you see anyone outside of the house?"

"No," said Remus.

"Did you _hear_ anything suspicious?"

"No," said Remus. Then he added: "It was raining very hard."

"Unfortunately," Detective Brown grumbled. "Well, thank you Mr. Lupin for your cooperation. I'll inform you if anything comes up." Remus let out a sigh. "Oh, can I get some contact information?"

"Er," said Remus panicking. He didn't have any means for Muggles to contact him, but he could hardly tell Detective Brown that. "I'm moving, so my _fone_ is … disconnected," which was true— partially— and he desperately hoped that he used the right words. "The Dursleys and I were making arrangements so I can stay in close quarters with Harry for the summer—" at least, that was what he was _planning_ to do— "so you can contact me with the Dursleys' number."

"Right," said Detective Brown. "I'll just ask Mr. and Mrs. Dursley when they wake up."

Detective Brown got up and prepared himself to leave. Dr. Bastian slowly got out from her seat, still looking thoughtful.

"Can you ask you a question, Mr. Brown?" said Remus.

Brown looked up. "Go ahead."

"What will the … perpetrator face if he or she is convicted?" asked Remus.

"Let's see," said Detective Brown, a grim smile flickering around his lips. "There's Assault and Battery— Attempted Murder— (Remus winced)— and a possible charge for forceful breaking and entering. So whoever did this, they should expect a loooong hard time."

"I see," said Remus. "Thank you."

Brown grunted. 

---oo00oo---

"We're keeping him the emergency room until he wakes up," explained Dr. Bastian while she led Remus to where Harry was. "The wound on his forehead has been treated as well as expected, but I'm afraid he'll have scars."

Remus winced. Dr. Bastian gazed at him soberly.

"There seemed to be an older scar on his forehead. Do you know where he got it from?"

"Ah— no, not really," said Remus. It was a lie, but he could hardly tell Dr. Bastian about Dark Lords or Killing Curses. "I never brought it up, and Harry didn't want talk about it."

Dr. Bastian fell silent for a while.

"If you don't mind me asking, can you tell me more about this … _Hestworth_ Academy?" she asked at length.

"Uhm…" Remus muttered, thinking hard. "It's highly selective school up in Scotland. The entire student body is no more than a thousand, though every child in Great Britain is taken into consideration when they do admissions."

Dr. Bastian stared at him. "How come I never heard about this school?" she wondered. "I thought I researched all the good secondary schools for my children," she frowned deeply, "apparently not."

"I don't think it's because of any lack of research from your part," Remus assured. "Hestworth isn't _that_ widely known here. In fact, I know several students whose parents never heard about Hestworth Academy before their children got their acceptance letter."

Dr. Bastian's mouth opened and closed.

"How does the school admission work?" she asked.

"Er…" Remus struggled to frame a replay. '_An enchanted quill writes down your child's name if they are born with enough magic potential_' hardly seemed to be a Muggle-y correct answer. "I'm afraid I didn't last in Hestworth long enough to learn all the details about their admission process." 

"Oh," said Dr. Bastian. She looked very disappointed.

"Can I ask _you_ a question?" said Remus. He thought it was best he turned the conversation towards Dr. Bastian before she asked the more awkward questions. "What is this … St. Brutus's Secure Center you mentioned at the waiting room?"

Dr. Bastian turned pink. "It's … St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys." Remus turned an outraged look at the Muggle Healer, who avoided his eye. "There is a rumour in this area that … Mr. Potter goes there." Remus sputtered noiselessly. "It's ridiculous, of course, but quite a few people— children mostly— actually believe it."

Remus' eye narrowed. Dr. Bastian continued to avoid his eye as she opened a thick white door for him. 

He entered a large, startlingly white room. There were several patients lying in white beds, alone or surrounded by worried visitors. Intricate heart-rate checking devices were assigned to each patient, beeping monotonously away next to their beds. Remus was appalled to find that the Muggles had stuck _needles_— which were, in turn, connected to some sort of elaborate potion-brewing apparatus— into all their patients as well. How sticking needles into sick people was supposed to heal them, Remus had no clue, but the sight alone made him extremely grateful to be a wizard.

Dr. Bastian led him to bed where a tall, thin old man wearing a beige overcoat and high-heeled boots was standing next to. The old man turned around when Dr. Bastian approached.

"Well, Remus, I was wondering when I would see you."

  
TBC … 

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**More notes from Punisher**:

Pew. That took longer than I thought. What's more, it's pathetic. Remus seems OOC in some parts, but I'll make the excuse that he was under duress. Vernon is more violent than usual (actually shooting the gun), but the reasons will become more apparent in later chapters.

My current goal is a chapter every ten to twelve days. I made it in eleven this time.

* * *

**Kurbani**: Thank you. As for the pairings … just wait and see.

**Kira, shitsumon, Kay, Lady SallyRose, s, kateydidnt, Aubretia, tristhe**: Thank you. I hope you like the second chapter. (tristhe, I think your review got lost in the in the mire that is ff.net)

**Courtney**: Rest assured, I hardly write anything that is one-shot or un-outlined. And no one is going to 'find-out' per-say ;-)

**Kristine Thorne**: heh. This story won't be an angst parade, but it would be close.

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	3. Realizations

* * *

09/20/2003 

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**Disclaimer**: J.K. Rowling is the author of _Harry Potter_; Hayao Miyazaki is the creator of _Spirited Away_; Woo Hyuk Lee is the author of _Demon Exorcist Chronicles_. I am just borrowing (respectively) their characters, imagery, and concepts for my own amusement. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. 

**Note**: Illustrated version of this chapter can be found at: www.glue.umd.edu/~indramh/writings/abw03.htm   
**Note**: Posted again because of errors 

**A BLACK WIND**   
by Punisher 

---Realizations--- 

With immense effort, Remus managed not to drop his jaw unceremoniously on the floor. He did not, however, stop himself from opening and closing his mouth repeatedly. In defense of his fish imitation, he could point out that he was doing much better than Dr. Bastian, who stumbled backwards looking absolutely gobsmacked. 

Not that he could blame her, really. Standing in front of them, wearing a shimmering deep-purple Muggle suit, a pale canary-yellow shirt, a robin's-egg-blue bow-tie, high buckled boots, a beige overcoat, and a dark gray hat with more than three quarters of his beard and hair missing (_did he **cut** it?!_), was Albus Dumbledore in all his ancient and powerful glory. 

"Good morning, Dr. Bastian and Professor Lupin," said Dumbledore, taking off his hat and making a swift bow. 

Dr. Bastian gurgled incoherently. 

Remus found his voice after some noiseless sputtering himself. "Du—Headmaster, _what are you doing here?!_" 

In a Muggle hospital, wearing Muggle clothing, in _person_: the mere thought was too ridiculous to contemplate. 

"It so happens," said Dumbledore, looking on top of his half-moon glasses, "That I was in this area to visit an old friend." 

Remus' eyes opened wider. _Dumbledore was visiting Arabella Figg? Wait. No. That's an excuse._

"When I was passing Privet Drive, about two blocks away from my old friend's home, I found a neighboring residence looking as if it was attacked," Dumbledore explained. "I made some inquiries, and the police on the site told me that Mr. Harry Potter— a student of my school— and his family were sent to this hospital by an ambulance. I thought it was only proper to check and see if everyone was all right." 

"_Oh_," said Remus, dazed. Dr. Bastian shifted restlessly next to him. 

"Do you have something to say, Dr. Bastian?" asked Dumbledore politely. 

"Oh, uhm… _no_," Dr. Bastian stammered. She stared at Dumbledore with certain amount of awe. "Shall I leave you two alone, Mr.—?" 

"White," supplied Dumbledore. "_Dr_. White. And yes, please, thank you." 

Dr. Bastian took two steps back and practically scampered out of the emergency room. 

Remus stared at 'Dr. White' for several bemused moments. "You practically scared her out," he said accusingly. Then looking at the Headmaster's beard he said: "And that's a Glamourie, I presume?" 

"Works like a charm," said Dumbledore, fingering the invisible part of his beard. Then looking at Remus he asked: "Can you tell me what really happened?" 

"Well—" Remus looked around, eyeing the patients and visitors. No one was looking at them— not really— but they couldn't risk the chance of being overhead. 

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, we need to be able to speak freely." 

Dumbledore unobtrusively took out his wand from his sleeve. "_Inaestimabilis Animadverto_," he whispered. A pale white vapor poured out of the tip and spread around Harry's hospital bed in a rough six feet diameter circle. The spell, though didn't make them invisible, encouraged others to think whatever— or, in this case, whoever— within the spelled area was not worth noticing, be it sight or sound or smell. This meant the two of them could talk about Magic in the top of their lungs for all they cared, and the Muggles would not notice a thing. 

Remus stepped within the circle and started talking. 

"Harry didn't send us a letter yesterday," he said in a low voice. "I sent a letter asking why, but we got no replies." He left before he got a letter, actually, but considering Harry's current state, it was very likely. "I resolved to visit him today. I neglected to warn the Dursleys beforehand, though." 

He gave Dumbledore an apologetic look. The Headmaster just shook his head. 

"You were worried," he said, "And telling the Dursleys about your visit prior to your arrival would not have helped you." 

"… Right," muttered Remus, though he didn't really understand why. He took a deep breath. "I arrived at the Dursleys' house this morning. And— well— Petunia was hysterically frightened to see me." 

He paused, thinking. In hindsight, he could see why Petunia had been so afraid at him: The 'confrontation' he, Arthur, Moody and Tonks arranged at Kings Cross Station must have increased her Rhabdophobia— fear of magic— tenfold, and reacted accordingly when she realized what he was. 

Remus shifted guiltily. Dumbledore had discouraged such encounters, but he ignored it as an over-caution. And like everyone else, he wanted to make sure Harry's summer holiday was as good as the circumstances allowed it to be. He never imagined the confrontation would cause so much trouble in the future … but what was done was done, and at least he knew _why_ Dumbledore discouraged them … 

"She ran away from me with the door left open," continued Remus. "I entered the house and went upstairs to check on Harry. He was … I found him—" his voice broke— "I found him with his … forehead slashed up. There was blood _everywhere_, and— and bits of … torn flesh …" 

He shuddered. Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"I see," he said quietly. "Say no more. I get the picture." 

Remus shivered again. His mind simply could not let go of the horrifying image he witnessed at Privet Drive, and he had a deep suspicion that he wasn't going to forget it for a very long time. 

"Mundungus Fletcher has alerted the Order of this situation," Dumbledore told him. "He also told me that he was found by the Muggle Law Enforcement 'loitering' around the crime scene and was taken to custody." 

Remus felt the blood rapidly leaving his face. "Mundungus was arrested?" he choked. 

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed somberly. "He did not tell me anything about his escape or release, but I think he simply Apparated out of his cell when no one was looking." He paused. "I devoutly hope there were no witnesses; we do not want the Magical Law Enforcement to be involved." 

"No," Remus muttered. "We don't." He stared at his feet. 

"I alerted Kingsley and Arthur to keep tabs on Ministry activities," Dumbledore said as if from a distance. "So far, I have not received any messages regarding Obliviator dispatches or notes from the Improper Use of Magic Office." 

Remus nodded mechanically. This was his doing. He created this mess. Now Mundungus would not longer be able to stand watch for Harry, and there was a dangerous possibility that the Magical Law Enforcement would enter the picture. Who knew what kind of trouble the Ministry would cause? _And to think I accused you for rashness, Sirius…_

A hand squeezed his left shoulder. 

"You must not blame yourself over this matter," said Dumbledore soothingly. "Who could have anticipated matters would take such a turn? And who can blame you for wanting to meet Harry before you left?" 

Remus said nothing and continued to stare at the floor. But his heart was pounding. It was now clear Dumbledore expected him to go far north— to contact the werewolf community in Ireland— to talk about the relocation bill and figure out a possible course of action— to rally up everyone against the Ministry while preventing other werewolves from listening to Lord Voldemort's empty promises. But he was not going to do that. He wasn't. He went through all this, and he wasn't going. No, no, no… 

"Remus?" 

He looked up. Dumbledore was looking at him with deep concern. 

"Take some rest," he said. "Your journey can wait for while." 

He led Remus to a chair next to Harry's bed and made him sit in it. Remus fumbled wordlessly, trying to tell Dumbledore about his decision but unable to get the words out of his mouth. Apparently unawares of Remus' predicament, Dumbledore wrapped him up in a spare blanket, and then placed his wand on Remus' temple. 

"_Dormio_," he whispered. 

Instantly Remus' eyelids felt like lead. Drowsiness overwhelmed his senses and soon he was fast asleep. 

---oo00oo--- 

He was standing in the middle of a darksome place. The sky was dark sluggish gray, and the terrain was parchment white. Where was he? And why was he standing in this barren and lifeless landscape? He took a step forwards and something crunched beneath his feet. He looked down. It looked like rocks at first, but in close inspection it was bone— aged fragments of bone. 

Bones. Bones were everywhere— in heaps and mountains— stretching far beyond the horizon— farther than he could perceive. But where did these bones come from? Why was he standing in the mist of these bones? What was he doing here? 

A shiver ran through his entire body. Though the air was hot enough to scorch his skin, it was piercingly cold. He felt hard winds on his skin, and by intuition alone he sensed a great sea of people howling and screaming around him. But why can't he hear them? Was it his ears? 

No. It wasn't his ears. He could hear something: an insidious whisper.   


_--You are putting the lives of several hundred werewolves in jeopardy, just for one boy. Is it worth it?_

**_There are many people working for werewolf rights— far too many. Let them do their work; I must do what I'm called to do._**

_--One more person could make the difference, my friend._

**_I'm not arrogant enough to think I'm the one who'll bring the change!_**

_--And yet you are arrogant enough to think you have found the one who can bring the change! What is more, you think you can nurture him up to be the one!_

**_…_**

_--There are teachers out there who can do the job— teachers who are far better than you! Look at Dumbledore: can you honestly say you can do a better job than him?!_

**_…… No. But—_**

_--You can make him promise to oversee his education. And you know better than anyone Albus Dumbledore keeps his promises._

**_………_**

_--Think about it, my friend. One of the greatest wizards in world privately tutoring The One, and you will never have to suffer the stigma of being _traitor_…_

_……_

_--Doesn't it sound reasonable?_

**_… I'm … losing … my … conviction…_**

_--You don't want to be branded traitor, do you Lupin? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you?_

_…_

_…_

_Lupin…?_

_Lupin…?!_

_Lupin…?!_

"Mr. Lupin!" 

Remus' eyes shot open. 

The first thing he noticed upon waking up was the fact that he was covered with cold sweat. The second thing was that he was shivering despite the warm blanket wrapped around him. When his eyes came back to focus, he noticed someone wearing a dark overcoat was standing before him. He looked up. 

"Mr. Brown," he mumbled. He rubbed eyes with his right palm. 

Detective Brown inclined his head slightly, his dark gaze intent and unwavering. Remus thought he'd comment about his rather obvious fretful sleep, but Brown mentioned nothing of that sort. Instead, he made some cursory greetings and a 'how-are-you-I-hope-you're-fine' before cutting straight to the point: 

"There's been some progress in the investigation," said Brown bluntly. "We managed to gather some physical evidence from the crime scene, and your story seems to collaborate with them. However—" his eyes glinted strangely— "There is some muddy parts that I'd like for you to clarify. Please keep in mind that whatever you tell me might be used against you, and that you are under no obligation to answer me." 

Remus nodded and clasped his hands. 

"We found physical evidence that says you had nothing to do with the _actual_ shooting," Brown told him. "For one thing, you'd been lucky enough to have had stepped into a mud puddle before you entered the house. There were footprints everywhere." 

Remus briefly stole a glance at his right leg, which was covered with dry mud up to his knee. When he looked up, he found Brown curling his upper lip in a very Snape-like fashion. Remus suppressed a shudder. 

"With the footprints in the hall leading up to the stairs, I verified that you _did_, in fact, walk up the stairs and ran down them," said Brown. "We had some difficulty tracing your footprints in the living room after the paramedics trampled them underfoot, but there was enough dried mud to for me to conclude you'd never been at the location where the gun was shot." 

Though this sounded like good news, Remus refused to feel relieved. And lo and behold, Brown gave him a calculating look. 

"I also found out that the gun was fired about twelve to fifteen feet away from you, somewhere around the dinning area in fact. Interestingly enough, there was a clear opening between the dinning area and the living room." Brown looked hard at Remus. "And yet you told me that you haven't seen the person who shot the gun." 

Remus stamped down on his rising panic. How did Brown figure out where the gun was shot? _Wizards_ still couldn't figure out where a spell was cast unless someone witnessed it or heard it—how could Muggles be any wiser about their weapons? Wait, was Brown bluffing? 

"We ran a simple ballistics test on the shotgun we found in the house, and determined it was used for the shooting," growled Detective Brown. "And judging from the amount of burnt gunpowder around the bullet holes, the forensics team figured the gun was shot about fifteen to twenty feet away from the wall on the east side, which was about five to ten feet away from where you were standing when the shooting occurred." 

Remus swallowed with some difficulty. _Note to self: Muggle are not hopelessly stupid, whatever wizards might think about them._

"You told me it was 'very dark' when the gun was shot," Brown continued in harsh tones. "But I don't think it was dark enough this morning for a normal person to be unable to see the shooter, even without a flashlight on." 

Here Brown looked at Remus severely. 

"I don't know what's going on, but I _hope_ you weren't trying to mislead me in the waiting room …" 

"Uhm," Remus floundered. He dare hoped he didn't look too agitated. "It is true that the … gun was shot very close by, but I had not been able to see the shooter because … I can barely see anything in the dark. My eyes are … er, well, I have very poor night vision." This was complete lie, but it was the best excuse he could think of. Hopefully Brown would take his word for it. 

"What— you have the Cataracts or something?" said Brown disbelievingly. He peered into Remus' eyes. Whatever he saw in them made both of his eyebrows shoot up in astonishment. "No! At _your_ age?!" he exclaimed. 

Remus' smiled feebly. "The same reason why I'm graying at my age, I suppose." 

Brown opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and then closed it. 

"I'm very sorry," said Brown gruffly but earnestly. "I did not mean to be so harsh. But for a moment, I thought you were hiding something." 

"It's all right," said Remus, plastering a sickly smile on his face despite all the guilt squirming beneath it. "You wouldn't have known that I had an eye problem." Then, curiosity and sheer self-preservation getting the better of him, he asked: "I take it that the investigation is not going as well as you had hoped?" 

Brown shook his head glumly. "This case—" he made some frustrated gestures— "is proving to be extremely bewildering and difficult. For all intents and purposes, it _appears_ to be an open and shut case but actually nothing adds up." 

Remus winced at Detective Brown's grumpy face. Brown would have a very hard time indeed if he tried to make sense of the magic Remus performed in number four with the general lack of information. He just hoped Brown could find a reasonable Muggle conclusion with what he got. 

"And it doesn't help matters when every person in the Homicide unit thinks it's an open and shut case," Brown growled. 

Correction: He really, truly hoped so. 

For the next ten minutes, Detective Brown proceeded to ask Remus some standard questions for murder (or, in this case, attempted murder) investigations: Did he see anyone around the area _before_ he entered the house? Did he see anyone he could recognize afterwards? Was he aware of anyone who might want to harm the Dursleys? Did _Remus_ have anyone who might want to harm him? Was Remus aware of anyone else besides the Dursleys who might have known his visit to Number Four? Etc… etc… Remus felt beyond awful when he had to answer negative to all of them. 

"Not that I expected anything," Brown grumbled. "All of the neighbors are insisting the Dursleys were exemplary neighbors, and it's unthinkable someone might want to kill them. I also called up Dean about an hour ago to ask his opinion of you." He gave Remus a wry grin. "Don't worry. He was highly complimentary: told me you were the best Teacher he ever had." 

Remus blushed despite himself. The wry grin grew on Brown's face. 

"Is it too much for me to hope you're in murderous odds with the Science Professor at Hestworth?" Brown asked, "With this Snape fellow?" 

Remus breath stuck in his throat. "Se—Professor Snape?" he stammered. "Well I—" Snape _did_ have a rather dangerous grudge on him, but he had nothing to do with the case, so why should he tell Brown that and bring more unnecessary trouble? "Professor Snape and I are not friends, and there _is_ a certain amount of animosity between us, but he has no grudges of the murderous sort." Grudges strong enough to continuously harass him, attempt to throw him in Azkaban to receive the Dementor's Kiss, and expose his deepest secret for public scorn, but not enough to actually murder him, no. 

"Right," Brown muttered. "It's just that Dean told me this Snape was universally known to have hated you." He gave Remus that twisted grin again, "Just the typical bully, I presume?" 

Remus shrugged. Brown grunted and thanked him for answering his questions. 

"I hope you get some promising leads," said Remus with not-entirely-false earnestness. 

"Wouldn't I be lucky," said Brown sardonically. He half turned himself to leave. Before he left, he shot out a question: "By the way, do you think Mrs. Dursley hates you?" 

Remus blinked. "I have only met her several times, all in a formal settings, so I wouldn't know. Why do you ask?" 

"To clarify some minor points," Brown answered. "Mrs. Dursley was inclined to blame you for the incident at her house." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I just wondered why." 

Remus nodded his head slowly. Brown studied him for a moment, then wheeled around and strode out of the emergency room. 

---oo00oo--- 

Mr. Brown paid no more visits to Remus that day. In fact, Mr. Brown paid no more visits to the Hospital. But Remus did not get to appreciate the lack of investigators questioning his every move, as his principle object of concern was in a critical state. 

His principle object of concern, Harry, did not wake up that afternoon. Nor did he wake up that evening. Muggle Healers and Nurses came and went, checking Harry's pulse, temperature and whatnot. They seemed to be baffled at Harry's condition, and various unlikely theories were put forth to account for this. Muggle medications were injected (using _needles_, much to Remus' horror), and Dreamless Sleep potions were surreptitiously applied by none other than Albus Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore both surprised and impressed Dr. Bastian and her colleagues by staying. And once she got over the awe induced by his presence, Dr. Bastian aggressively bombarded Dumbledore with questions about 'Hestworth Academy,' taking copious notes while she was at it. Her questions ranged from the innocuous to the downright dangerous (as far as Statute of Secrecy was concerned), but the canny old Wizard managed to answer her splendidly. 

It was late in the evening when Dr. Bastian finally left them alone. Remus, who simply sat in his chair silently watching Dumbledore talk with Dr. Bastian, let out a sigh of relief when Dumbledore cast the _Inaestimabilis Animadverto_ charm around them once more. 

"Such a dedicated parent," said Dumbledore admiringly. He did not seem to be least bit phased by what Remus privately named: _The Interrogation Session_. "And such intelligent questions, too! I have never been so thoroughly challenged to make creative responses during an informal question session." 

"An informal question session?" repeated Remus, eyebrows at his hairline, "Creative responses?" He shook his head. "I still can't believe you managed to tell her something about the admissions process." 

"Oh, that was easy," replied Dumbledore. He seated himself in a chair. "There is a booklet for all parents of Muggle-born students explaining Hogwarts in a purely Muggle perspective. I simply told her what was written in it." The twinkle was back in his eyes. "When lying is necessary, it helps when the lies are consistent." 

Remus, who was reminded of Detective Brown in more ways than one, nodded in agreement. He also made a mental note to find a copy of the booklet Dumbledore mentioned. 

"But all amusement aside," said Dumbledore in more somber tones. "We must scavenge the current situation the best we can." 

Remus shrunk into his chair, his intestines squirming at will. 

"The first problem is, of course, Mr. Brown," Dumbledore stated. "As the leading investigator of this case and an uncle of a Hogwarts student, he is very liable to create some complications to the Order. And this is not even considering the fact we must conceal several important details from him. 

"The second problem is Mundungus Fletcher," said Dumbledore. "He obviously cannot continue his watch duties, at least while the Muggle Law Enforcement is looking for him as a suspect, and yet there is no one else in the Order to substitute his duties. 

"Finally there is Harry," said Dumbledore. He sounded very tired and old. "His Occulmancy lessons _must_ continue, and I truly mean _must_." 

Remus looked at Dumbledore with apprehension and confusion. 

"I have kept close tabs on Harry's behavior this week and last," Dumbledore explained. "And all this time Harry hardly left his room, let alone the house. He was also seen walking like a somnambulist in the height of day, and heard speaking with a voice unlike his own." 

A shiver ran down Remus spine as his worst fears seem to have proven true. 

"Then there are his dreams." Dumbledore's shoulders sagged even more. "Do you recall Harry mentioning something about having 'those dreams' in his first letter?" Remus nodded. "I believe Harry was referring to having dreams like the type Lord Voldemort used to… lure him to the Ministry of Magic." 

Dumbledore paused for a moment. 

"I assume you already know this?" he asked. Remus nodded again. "Well, it so happens that these dreams coincide with the times Harry appears to be sleepwalking." 

Remus swallowed with some difficulty. 

"Do you think he was possessed?" 

"……Yes." 

Silence crash-landed like a weight on the chest. Remus closed his eyes and felt his veins jingling with fear. 

"Therefore the necessity of Occulmancy," Dumbledore concluded. "I have been attempting to continue them, but have not been able to set a foot within the Dursleys' household." 

Startled, Remus looked up. 

"Why…?" 

"The wards would not let me in." 

The silence before was nothing to the thunderous pall that descended on the room this time. Remus stared at Dumbledore, acutely aware of the blood pounding in this chest. _The wards would not let Dumbledore in. They detected Dumbledore as a threat …_

But how could this _be_? He knew that the magical protections around the Dursleys' house were created under the foundations of Lily's love and built up with the blood ties between her and Petunia, but he never really learned the specifics. But what could keep _Albus Dumbledore_ from entering the house? Surely he posed no threat … and did Dumbledore not cast the protection charm himself? 

"Harry's protection affects _all_ those who pose a serious threat to his well being," said Dumbledore. "And apparently I am one of those people." 

"But that's impossible," protested Remus. "All wards are created under assumption the caster is not a threat. And if you couldn't enter the house, how… how did _I_ enter it without a problem?" 

"How indeed?" Dumbledore mused. He scratched his long whiskers. "How indeed…" 

Silence. 

Silence reigned. 

A clock ticked noisily in the background. And while Dumbledore was presumably musing over his predicament, Remus mulled over the strange idea. _Albus Dumbledore might pose a threat to Harry Potter… he might be a threat…_ He shook his head, unable to accept it— yet. 

"One possibility is that the wards considered intents of teaching Occlumancy as harmful," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "It is a borderline Dark Art after all. Another possibility is that someone tampered the area so I cannot pass." 

"How likely is that?" 

"Not very." 

The air became inexplicably heavy. 

"It is also entirely possible that I do not know my wards as much as I presumed," Dumbledore mused. "Though creating wards that can detect ill and murderous intent are not particularly difficult, this … selectiveness … I noticed around number four seems to be too complex and purposeful even for magic." 

Silence hovered between them like dense smog. At length Dumbledore shook his head. 

"Sitting around here brooding will not give us answers that do not come," he said. "So let us focus on the questions we _can_ solve. 

"For Detective Brown, we have little option but to be very careful around him and keep our stories consistent until memory charms becomes necessary. I suggest you think out a story that covers whatever you have told Mr. Brown so far, and collaborate it with the Dursleys." 

"Shall I compile a list?" asked Remus, his eyebrows in a complete obtuse angle. 

"Please do." Dumbledore's mustache was quivering. "You'll have to burn it afterwards, though." 

Remus shrugged ruefully with due exaggeration. 

"As for Mundungus—" Dumbledore looked oddly bemused— "I say we stand watch while Harry is in this hospital. Hopefully we would think of other alternatives before he is discharged. If all fails, we will have to bring him to Hogwarts under one pretense or another." 

For some reason, that made Remus' heart seize. He sat in his chair motionlessly. Neither of them spoke for a long time. 

Finally Dumbledore stood up. 

"I must recast the sleeping charm on the Dursleys," he said. 

"You put them to sleep?" Remus exclaimed. "But I thought … Detective Brown said …" 

"I was a tad late in discovering where the Muggle Doctors had put Petunia Dursley, and found her room when Mr. Brown was in the middle of taking her testimony," said Dumbledore. "Because of my tardiness, I had been … obliged … me to cast the Hysteria curse on Mrs. Dursley, forcing the Muggle Nurses to sedate her and reducing the credibility of her claim." He rubbed his face with his hands. "The things you do when you are desperate…" 

Remus bowed his head. 

"The sleeping draught I gave Harry will wear out by dawn," said Dumbledore quietly. "So there is no need for you to stay up all night." He let his hand rest on Remus' shoulder. "I will meet you again in the morning." 

Remus forced himself to nod. Though Dumbledore essentially advised him to sleep, slumbering that night seemed to out of the question for his nerves. But soon he felt a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders, and a wand tapping his temple. 

"_Dormio_." 

His eyes closed. His mind turned blissfully blank. And then … darkness. 

---oo00oo--- 

… 

… 

Where is he? 

It looked like … 

… the past! 

The pouring rain… 

He was going to Godric's Hallow, after being attacked by a hysterical mob… 

Searching for a little comfort he knew he couldn't find… 

James was shocked to see him. Lily quickly beckoned him inside. Both of them went to the Kitchen to fetch something. Restless, he entered a room with its lights on… 

… and came face to face with baby Harry in his crib. 

Until then, he avoided any encounters with Harry. In fact, he could count the number of infants he met in his lifetime with his fingers. No sane person who knew what he was would let him come near one, and the fact it was widely known to most Magical folk that babies could recognize a werewolf in an instant kept him at bay. 

Dealing with an adult rejection was one thing; receiving it from someone too young to know hatred was quite another. 

He started to back away, sealing himself for the inevitable wail of distress from his friend's son. 

But Harry … Harry had not made a sound. 

The baby was watching him. There was thoughtfulness in his eyes that was utterly alien to someone so young. 

He stopped his tracks. As if he was drawn, he approached the crib. Harry continued to watch him with those strange green eyes. 

He placed his hands on the white crib. Baby Harry studied them for a moment, then reached out for the bloodstained one… 

… And caressed the wound. 

Harry had looked up. His large eyes were brimming with tears, and yet he did not cry. Harry opened his mouth and let out a string of baby noises. They were incoherent gurgles at best, and yet the meaning did not escape him at all. 

_Are you all right?_

He could not longer breath. His chest ached. His heart was pounding. His vision was swimming away in a blurry mist. 

Warmth—warmth and overwhelming happiness he had felt when James and Sirius had told him that they weren't going to shun him, that it didn't matter, that they were going to stay regardless was flooding his veins. 

His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. He crawled up to Harry's crib. Tears still brimming, Harry extended both of his short arms in an indescribably heart-wrenching gesture. 

Trembling, he wrapped his arms around Harry… and _clung_. 

… 

… 

… 

Remus slowly opened his eyes. He was drenched in sweat again, and yet he wasn't surprised. Nor was he surprised at the unshed tears shimmering beneath his eyelids. 

"I forgot about that," he whispered. 

He slumped forwards, resting his head against Harry's hospital bed. A clock ticked loudly in the background. The soft harmonic beeping of the hear-rate checking devices blended in it. In his mind's eye, Remus saw baby Harry caressing his long-healed hand over and over again. Those large innocent eyes boring into his own, like it had happened only a while back… 

A clock chimed five times. Remus got up from his seat. He soundlessly trotted out the emergency room. The halls were devoid of people, and only two people were working their early morning shift behind the information desk. He stopped by and asked the question he should have asked a long time ago. It took him a while to persuade them, but he got what he needed. 

More people were walking down the halls. They seemed to step aside when he came through. Some even looked at him with awe. Remus paid them little mind. He focused entirely on his objective, least he hesitated again. He stopped, and checked the room number. This was it. He rapped the door merely to announce his presence. Without being invited, he pushed open the door and entered. 

Vernon and Petunia Dursley were inside. Both of them jumped violently when they recognized him. Petunia sputtered noiselessly, pointing a bony finger at his direction. Vernon was practically convulsing. Remus gave them a swift bemused looked before hardening his expression. 

"I'd like to have a word with you." 

It was done. 

* * *

**More Notes from Punisher:**

Now that was one late chapter. But I had a competition entry to complete, and went through a two week long creativity recuperation period. After recovery, school had started, which means very little time to write. 

Next Chapter: Harry wakes up. Remus and the Dursleys strike up a deal.   


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**The bystander**: Thank you! You're reviews are always welcomed. Chapter 2 was indeed shorter than chapter 1 by about three hundred words, and I debated for a while whether to add some more before posting it. Harry's forehead will be explained later. It's great to know you like the conversation between Remus and the doctor and the detective—I wrote that part several times before all the facts were logically consistent. 

**Kurbani**: A repeat reviewer! Thank you! 

**Elessar**: They won't disappear, but they will stay out of sight. ;-) 

**Thewalrus1**: Alas, I feared it may be the case. Thank you for leaving a review nonetheless. 

**A 29467**: You're right on the money! 

**kateydidnt**: Another repeat reviewer! I didn't consciously think of the quote when I was writing that part, but now that you mentioned it, I must have been influenced by Franklin without knowing. 

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Bibliography: 

**_Inaestimabilis Animadverto_**: Spell of the Author's own creation. Here are the Latin roots:   
**Inaestimabilis** [that cannot be estimated]; hence [priceless , inestimable]; also [having no value]. **Animadverto** (animadvortor) -vertere -verti -versum [to turn or give the mind to]. Hence [to take notice of, attend to; to perceive, observe]. Esp. [to take notice of] a fault, [blame, censure, punish]. 

**_Cataracts_**: A cataract is a clouding of a part of the eye known as the crystalline lens. The lens is a clear tissue located behind the pupil. When the lens becomes cloudy, or cataractous, light cannot pass to the retina properly, and vision is blurred and decreased. 


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